Racing Bedlam
by Abby Ebon
Summary: Mikaela Banes-Levin is the 36 year old mother of 16 year old Kevin E. Levin. Making Sam Witwicky a unknowing, 20 year old father. How? Well, having been held in cryo-sleep by Autobots during the years in a deep space voyage took, might do it.


_**Racing Bedlam **_

_Abby Ebon_

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Disclaimer_; I do not own _Transformers_, or _Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen_, or _Ben 10_, or _Ben 10: Alien Force_. What? You thought I did? No, check back with me when humanity falls, if I'm still around, I'm human, therefore, everything my race did, I can take credit in. Just by _association of species_, you understand? I didn't think so.

_Note_…see, it's my standing theory that when _Ben 10: Alien Force _came out in '08, and the subject of a car for a sixteen year old, who we've never seen the parents of, yet one whose father is supposedly a Plumber (and whose mother is strongly implied to be lying to him) came up, well, I think there were **bets** placed when that _car was drawn to look like a __Chevrolet Camaro with racing stripes_.

But, you know, with me? It took seeing that glimpse of Kevin in the up-coming real-life movie "_Ben 10: Alien Swarm_" I watched it again, to be sure, then _Transformers_; by then, it was just too late – I sort of squealed, squinted, and said that last time; _"OMG. Bumblebee_?!..."

Yet, if true, 'Bumblebee' has sort of been destroyed, twice, no joke. So, _no- just __no_, this starts after the end of _Ben 10: Alien Force_…

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"_Incoming Transmission…Standby…No User Response, Commence Recording…_" A laptop, held in the center of a desk; having been, early on, shoved into the far corner where no one might accidently stumbled upon it. Over years, it remained clean, free of dust; a precious reminder of the past.

It whirled and clicked franticly to life, restlessly stirring after years of solemn silence, receiving an incoming transmission that could only come from one source. Even as it was nearing four in the morning, and no one was yet around to hear the message – it connected - it was no mistake to think, that within this out of the way motorcycle-and-auto repair shop, this bit of hardware had been left on continuously over the years.

"_Mikaela_." A name, so uttered, was obviously still precious even after over a dozen years apart.

"_This is Sam, well, of course it is, right_?" A black box appeared on the screen, flickering, and though it was fuzzy, shifting unexpectedly, a form could be made out of the static of light and shadow.

"_Optimus says I've got a wire of about five minutes, maybe less, before we open a space bridge. I just wanted to let you know, I'm coming back. I know it's been years there, Ratchet says probably more then seventeen, for you, even if for me it's only been, well, less then a year_." It had been more then a half dozen years since his voice had been heard speaking aloud on this planet, like this, transmitted through an already strained connection of human-and-alien technology.

"_Bumblebee insisted, as we humans don't age well, that Ratchet put me in cryo-sleep most of the way there, and back again; I'm only awake for the jump and landing, really. I just wanted to let you know, that – that it doesn't matter to me, I still, well, you know. See you soon, Mikaela_…" There was a bitterness there, Sam _hadn't known_, hadn't known that traveling through space as he was would keep him young, would be yet another difference to face between them when the time, now swiftly approaching, came to meet again.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

When, that morning, bright and early at eight, Mikaela Banes-Levin arrived at her auto shop; she didn't recognize right away what was making the occasional bleeping she heard. After a narrow eyed scan, suspicious of possible thieves or the dangers of machinery left unattended, widened her eyes when she looked to the often overlooked corner that kept a laptop out of sight. Though it was only a quick walk to where the ancient bit of technology was kept, she was breathless – giddy delight flushing her face.

A quivering finger tapped the button that would re-play the recorded message. Legs suddenly weak, she sat abruptly on the crate that held spare parts, her whole attention fixed upon the laptop, and its delayed message.

"Mikaela." She found herself smiling tenderly, in the empty auto shop, at an inanimate object that would never recognize, or reflect, her expression. Only a little sadness pressed at her heart, that she was older now – would not be recognized – and this voice, so familiar, should have changed with age – and had not.

"This is Sam, well, of course it is, right?" His attempt at humor, at to get her to laugh – or smile – even so far apart in distance and years, warmed her. It was still there for him, her unchanged affections cradled within her heart and soul, a warmth and tenderness she could only equal with love of their son. Mikaela thought that among in the static of the image she could have seen his faltering grin. She saw his face in her dreams. In the son that Sam didn't know he had, because, such as it was, this technology didn't allow for anything more then one-way contact.

"Optimus says I've got a wire of about five minutes, maybe less, before we open a space bridge. I just wanted to let you know, I'm coming back. I know it's been years there, Ratchet says probably more then seventeen, for you, even if for me it's only been, well, less then a year." In his round-about way, he was trying to tell her something, she wished then that he hadn't been so evasive about his feeling and needs and wants at that age. It stuck her then, Sam was – in appearance – barely a handful of years older then her –_their_ – son.

It sobered Mikaela to realize this, and she felt a sick wrenching in her gut, things between them, had, over the years, changed too much to "go back" to being like the old days. She had always been his link to this world, to the old life they had had together for only two short years – before being wrenched apart by circumstances beyond either of their control. For a long time after, Mikaela had hated them – the Autobots and their Decepticons counterparts – loathed those who had taken her Sam, her love. She still held to that grudge.

"Bumblebee insisted, as we humans don't age well, that Ratchet put me in cryo-sleep most of the way there, and back again; I'm only awake for the jump and landing, really. I just wanted to let you know, that – that it doesn't matter to me, I still, well, you know. See you soon, Mikaela…" He hadn't said "_I love you_", didn't know it would be welcome, or if Mikaela had long ago moved on from him.

She hadn't, not really – there had been a brief marriage to a man who had driven her eleven year old boy away. Mikaela remembered, with fond exasperation, that Sam had always hedged around those three words. Waiting for her to say them _to him_, not wanting his earnest admission of adoration for her, make her – in turn, in his thoughts - run away from him. Sam would have chased her, of course, as he always had.

Just that once though, Sam had wanted to be the one chased – and Mikaela had thrown herself into it with youthful abandon

Mikaela had thought at that age, a boy would need a man to look up to in his life. There had been no love lost between them, when Mikaela had broken it off, furious and hurt, to search for her boy. She had been wrong and nearly paid too dearly for it. Her boy had come back, and, shaking and scared, absorbing material and energy he might touch. Mikaela had never told him why, that it was because of Sam – who had bonded with the All-Spark, and that it had passed through genetics onto her son.

When questions to his father "his real father" had come up, Mikaela let her boy believe Sam was a "Plumber" (after she had learned what it was, she thought it close enough of a comparison to what Sam was doing) and encouraged him to "make right" what he had done in his youth while running away. Mikaela would support him, no matter that knowing their were other aliens and half-aliens around –and that her son was fighting them – terrified her. Yet, it must be something like what Sam had dealt with, and Mikaela with her own father, Cal, so she'd written it off as something inherited.

Still, Mikaela couldn't help her grin, Sam was coming home.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Drop it, Gwen." Kevin would not admit to the almost-plea he'd voiced. Gwen just shook her head in denial, red hair loosely framing her face – a flutter of wind made it shimmer like flames, with her green eyes narrowed; she was a force to be reckoned with.

A force of nature, a power unto her self, born out to an alien heritage, as much as it wasn't often spoken of, Kevin would never forget.

Never fail to remember the easy communication she had held with her grandmother to find out the origin of her 'magical' abilities. An explanation Kevin himself lacked; he tried not to hold it against his mother, knew there were secrets that she would not tell. Knew that it was not her story to tell, and she would wait.

For what, Kevin could not guess, for him to be ready? Kevin had found out – and seen with his own two eyes - what aliens lived beyond, and upon, the Earth. What more could there be to tell? Yet she would not say, and Kevin knew all that remained for him to do was waiting – wait until she would tell in her own time, in her own way. He couldn't help feeling a little betrayed. Yet she loved him, more then Kevin thought he deserved, deserting her – running away.

Kevin knew then that he would never win, not with Gwen – and not with his own mother. Gwen was determined most of the time, her attention focused as it was, and there was no getting around her. Not without hurting her, which Kevin wasn't about to do. Not for anything.

"She's got a point, Kevin, you've met our parents, Grandpa Max – _even our alien grandmother_ – what about _your_ mother?" Ben stood beside Gwen on this, though he wasn't as invasive and would have, if left by himself with Kevin, let it go. Ben was still cautious of him, wary, even though Kevin knew it wasn't for lack of trust. No, it was because Kevin was largely an unknown. Kevin had liked that - liked that there was a distance there, between the three of them, a mystery.

A distance Gwen was now determined to be crossed and bridged.

"Shut it, Tennyson." Kevin snarled the words out, grinding his teeth in self disgust when he saw Ben flinch and shrug defensively. Kevin had no reason to lash out at Ben, when it was _Gwen_ who was pushing this.

"Listen, Kevin, there is nothing to be ashamed of, okay? I…I'd just like to meet her." It was the hurt in Gwen's wavering voice that got to Kevin. Gwen was smart, she knew _just the right way _to go about bending someone to do what she wanted done. It was what had attracted Kevin to her, that glint of ruthless efficiency.

That she still held to do the noble and right thing, that was what made Kevin protective of her. She was innocent – _naive_ – in a way that Kevin had never encountered. He didn't know if it came as naturally to her as her powers – her grandmother had certainly known how to manipulate an issue into her favor. Or if it was something that was purely Gwen – in the end – it didn't matter. It was a part of who Gwen was, and didn't change how Kevin felt for her.

It was why, in the end, he said what he did.

"Fine" It was hissed reluctantly, grudgingly. Gwen brightened intently, grinning ear-from-ear, her eyes swirling with emotions that Kevin couldn't name. Ben, caught up in his cousin's enthusiasm, gave Kevin a quiet smile of thanks. That, most of all, told Kevin that he was doing the right thing.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Mom?" Tentative, wavering, softly spoken; Mikaela frowned at the wrench in her hand, fastened about a stubborn bolt. For all that she knew _that voice_ belonged to her boy, Kevin was never so nervous around her – not any more. Mikaela sighed softly, blinking her eyes harshly; she'd thought they'd worked through this distrust that cling between them. Sometimes she even fooled herself into forgetting it was even there.

"Down under the Dodge, Kev'. Lunch is in the cooler, if you want it." She answers, trying to make her voice sound sure and steady - and welcoming. Mikaela doesn't know if she gets it right. She listens for Kevin, coming closer, a shuffling stride that eats up the distance and has never been very loud. She listens for it, because she can't help but be glad that Kevin is here, with her. That he still loves her, and trusts her as much as he can – as much as she allows.

Mikaela never wants to forget her mistakes, never wants to forget, for she might make them again. Kevin had always had that habit of trying to keep silent, even before he ran away. He'd always wanted to sneak up on her, surprise her – make her laugh at his cleverness, or anything really to have and hold her attention for very long.

Mikaela paused, closing her eyes again, a longer pause as she took the time to berate herself for past mistakes – if Sam had been around (though he hadn't been, and nothing could change that) he_ would have seen _Kevin's shyness for what it was; a desperate need for her affection. Sam would not have let her think it was because Kevin wasn't opening up to her _because of her gender_. That it was only Kevin being Kevin, her boy – her son, and not some attempt to tell her he needed a man in his life to help him bridge his childhood into adolescence.

"Mom, ah, I've brought some friends over. They…they want to meet you, okay?" His words, hushed and still unsure and sounding oh-so-young – seeking her approval above all else – caught and held her attention. She couldn't help her smile, hidden as it was by the undercarriage of a car - Kevin, as ruffian and wild as he appeared, had never brought '_friends'_ over.

Whatever reason he had had, Mikaela didn't question – it was enough that Kevin came back home every night; or called to let her know when he'd be back late. Mikaela always tried to show how grateful she was for that, by making sure Kevin had food warmed up whenever he got home.

Her gift to him on his sixteenth year, a compact little Chevrolet Camaro – that served both as a warning to when Kevin was coming up the drive; and a reminder of the night – now well over twenty years ago, she had gotten in the car on a night that changed her life.

That last part was a personal reminder, and it seemed right that Kevin have it – even if he didn't know it was something his father and he shared, in their love of racing stripes and an antique Camaro. That a shaky Kevin had come home without it, and haltingly told her of everything, right down to scarifying it so that life could continue on normally, had meant more to her then Kevin could know. She'd made it very plain, she was glad to have _Kevin_ back, and if it couldn't be helped about the car, so be it.

This, all the same, was something Mikaela intended to relish. It might be embarrassing for Kevin, but it was something that Mikaela had always sort of looked forward to. She remembered fondly, the night Sam's own parents had found Mikaela in their son's room; and their antics upon meeting her. If she could 'get back at them' by teasing her own flesh and blood, well, Kevin would just have to suffer.

"Did you now?" Wicked grin firmly in place, Mikaela rolled herself out from the undercarriage. Kevin flushed as he was, wasn't meeting her eye – he did, none the less, help her to stand when she reached for a lift up. She took in the sight of the empty garage, and wondered what Kevin had said to make them "give him room" with his mother. Mikaela couldn't help chuckling at her son's protectiveness, feeling a bit like an isolated maiden caged in a tower. Or a feared dragon mother, whose cave and temper were something to be avoided.

"Well, where are they, then?" His shoulders slumped, looking a bit too dismayed at his apparently dire fate; Kevin marched as if meeting a firing squad, to the garage marked for "personal only". Clearly he had been hoping she would say something to excuse him from the task of "meeting mother", or that she might be 'too busy' – Kevin called out to them, taking one last sulking glancing over his shoulder to her, clearly reluctant.

"Come on in, Gwen; Tennyson." Kevin, reluctant as he was to let them in, stood aside. Kevin, she thought in fond exasperation, might be a bit too protective of her, really. Mikaela tried to smile in a friendly way; trying to look like a normal mother might. She caught a look at herself in the car door mirror beside her, seeing that Kevin had his little revenge in not telling her about the grease smear on her cheek.

Mikaela looked up in time to take in the appearance of the two teenagers who came, slow and curious into her auto shop. A lanky boy with ruffled brown hair, that made him look as if he'd just climbed out of bed, wearing a green leather sports jacket with the letter '10' emblazed on the chest, a rumbled black shirt tucked into blue jeans. He did not flinch to meet her searching gaze with his own sharp green eyes. It made her like him, a little bit. He gave her a charming – if relieved – smile. At once, Mikaela wondered what he'd been expecting to see.

Beside, if slightly behind him, was a tall girl with green eyes, if in a different shade, subdued red hair came down to her waist –for certainly some effort must have been made to tame it. There was almost a hectic calm in her gaze, as she took in the sight of the dim garage, finally setting on the woman in greasy jean overalls, painted fingers on her hips, leaning on dinged up Dodge, a smile almost too firmly placed upon her lips.

Mikaela took it in, when the girl glanced to Kevin searchingly, as if not sure of what her place was here. Mikaela hid the knowing smile that wanted to creep over her lips; she had noticed how Kevin had taken to looking at his appearance more often; making an effort to "clean up", if in his own way. Mikaela thought she knew now, in part, why that was.

"This," Kevin started reluctantly, drawing the word out, then waving toward Mikaela as if to release the burden of certain facts, stated, "is my mom."

"And, you two, undoubtedly, you know my son." Mikaela dryly told them. Kevin rolled his eyes, while Mikaela resisted the urge – she thought it was very mature of her. Their exchange, at least, cracked a smile from the girl. Ice broken, Mikaela continued on as if blithely unaware that she would be making Kevin squirm.

"You both may call me Mikaela, not 'Mom', that's reserved for Kevin. You've got questions?" The two glanced between each other, and it cemented a certain sense that she had gotten about the two – they, undoubtedly, were related. They, almost in unison, nodded.

"Well," Mikaela really couldn't be blamed for her somewhat victorious grin, even as Kevin flinched, just a little bit, "to be fair, so do I, starting with…names?" It was the girl that stepped forward first, determined, her chin jutting out and meeting Mikaela's eyes squarely.

"Gwen Tennyson." Mikaela bobbed her head in a nod, an approving smile slipping over her lips. She let Gwen see it, and knew the girl felt relief at that small acknowledgement.

"Ben Tennyson." This time it was the boy, and Mikaela stopped herself from blinking in surprise. Or looking to Kevin to explain, yet something must have showed, for Gwen took that as her cue.

"We're cousins." Gwen was clearly trying to impress her, or make a positive impression in the very least. Mikaela appreciated the effort, though she knew better then to say so. It made things easier, none the less.

"So you are. Now, tell me, what questions _do you_ have?" Kevin gave her a wide-eyed look, as if he couldn't quite believe she had asked such an open-ended question. Mikaela thought he might as well get used to the look, as facts were now; things had already started to change. It was too late to go back to the way things had been; they might as well go forward. Or be left behind.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Note_;…first, thank you kindly for reading the first chapter, in the first story, of _this_ sort. If there is another _Transformers (the movie) / Ben 10_: _Alien Force_ out there, it is better hidden then it ought to be.

This chapter it stops here, mostly, because I want to get a second look at the first series- and the second, and see what questions I can fish up for the Tennyson's to ask; here is your chance, if there is something you want to see asked or questioned, please bring it up - even if you think it is obvious, I don't want to chance it being something I might have missed. Do you?

So, questions? - comments? - criticism? – come now, you must have something to say, please, do so!


End file.
